#arkham city riddler

[karenramenk-arts]

So sorry please someone redraw this it's riddler skin set on catwoman and he crawls like a cat ill post it later and he does this thing andhe looks at the moon like hes going to bark or something

[kapptto]

Riddle me this, Detective…

[unrestrained-balderdash-art-blog]

From 08/09/2024. The single upside to having OCD is I can make good angsty Arkham Riddler fanart

Inks:

[logansbluetie]

I found something for your riddler headcannons folks

[unrestrainedbalderdash]

Perfectly captured his mental state tbh

[one-fancy-flapjack]

How I love tortured self proclaimed geniuses with some ego complex, hyperfixations and father issues. wait that reminds me of someone- WAIT-

[pauldanoshusband]

ARKHAMVERSE RIDDLER PLEASE 😭😭😭

[adhdnursegoat]

Have fun!

Per usual, link to full story beneath teaser!

Warning: blood play, obviously, and oral sex in full length fic

?

This is too much.

You’re overwhelmed by the sensory overload—the smell of sweat and fear, the sounds of pain and terror, the suffocating heat trapped beneath the blindfold and gag. Every little thing adds to the weight pressing down on you, and you feel like you’re smothered by it all. The fear, the disgust, the helplessness—it’s all too much to bear. You want to scream, to cry out for someone to help you, but the gag reduces your voice to nothing more than muffled sobs and desperate whimpers.

And then you hear it—a voice that slices through the suffocating darkness, male, sharp, and clear. It’s a voice that, against all odds, makes you feel oddly calm. Not calm enough to stop the silent sobs racking your body, but it doesn’t bring the same paralyzing terror that gripped you when the henchmen spoke. This voice is different.

"Ah, quite the pitiful selection you brought me this time."

The voice is confident, dripping with haughty arrogance. There’s a cocky undertone, a showmanship that tells you this man enjoys the sound of his own voice. As the speaker moves closer, each word is a note in a cruel symphony, and you can almost see the smirk on his face. You’re not sure why, but the sound doesn’t send chills down your spine the way the others did. It’s unsettling, yes, but in a way that makes you want to listen more closely, to hear what comes next. And, for some reason, you feel like you’ve heard the voice before.

"They all look dumb, don’t they?"

His tone is casual, almost playful, as if he’s discussing something as trivial as the weather. You can hear his footsteps now, the rhythmic clomp of boots against the floor. The sound grows louder, closer. You and a teammate knock elbows every time one of you moves, a stark reminder that you’re all lined up like cattle. There is a faint rustling, maybe the others shifting uncomfortably, or maybe just the thugs making sure none of you try anything stupid.

The speaker hums a tune, one too cheerful, too lighthearted for the situation. The absurdity of it all almost makes you laugh, if it weren’t for the tears still streaming down your face. This whole thing feels like a twisted joke, a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

"Ugly, too… I’m doing the world a favor by culling the rabble."

The way he says it is so nonchalant, as if human lives mean nothing to him. You can hear the disdain dripping from his words. He is mocking you all, taking pleasure in your fear. The footsteps stop, the sound dying away right in front of you. Your breath catches in your throat, the air around you suddenly thick with tension.

And then, after a heartbeat of silence, you feel his presence looming over you. The air feels colder, the space around you narrowing, suffocating. You brace yourself for whatever comes next, muscles tensed, heart racing.

"Oh my…” His voice drops into a silky purr, dripping with something dark and sinister. “Except for this one~"

There is a shift in the atmosphere, an almost palpable change. You don’t know why, but you feel like a spotlight has just been turned on you, like he’s zeroed in on you and no one else exists. You cannot see him, but you can feel his gaze, a weight pressing down on you, stripping you bare. He is close now, too close, and you don’t know whether to scream or stay silent.

Your mind races, trying to decipher his intentions. What does he mean by “except for this one”? Is it a compliment, a threat, or something worse? You’re paralyzed, unable to move, unable to think clearly. You try to tell yourself it’s nothing, just more of his sick game, but there’s something in his tone, in the way he said “this one,” that makes your blood run cold.

Every nerve in your body is on high alert, waiting for the other shoe to drop. You can feel his eyes on you, like a predator sizing up its prey. The sobs you were trying so hard to suppress start to bubble up again, fear mixing with confusion, making it hard to breathe.

The sound of boots scuffing against the floor cuts through the thick air, signaling a shift in the predator's attention. He’s right there, standing over you, and you don’t know what he’s going to do next. Then he’s moving, twisting his weight to face you, and with a rustle of fabric, you sense him lowering himself closer. The space between you evaporates, his presence invading your personal bubble, suffocating you.

All you can do is wait, your heart pounding in your chest, and the voice that once brought a strange calm fills you with a new kind of dread.

And then, without warning, a hand clamps onto your chin—a grip so cold, it feels inhuman. The sudden contact against your burning, sweat-soaked skin sends a shock through your body. There is a texture difference between the skin of his fingers and the palm of his obvious fingerless gloves. The chill of his touch seeps into you, freezing your breath in your throat. You start to pant, struggling against the vise-like grip, your body’s natural reaction to the overwhelming fear and discomfort. The gag forces your drool to spill out the sides of your mouth. The more you squirm, the tighter the hold becomes until you swear you can hear the faintest crack of your mandible straining under the pressure.

A pitiful whimper escapes you, filtering through your nose in a desperate plea for mercy. But the hand doesn't relent. Instead, the person twists your head from side to side, tilting it up and down as if examining a prized possession. You feel utterly powerless, reduced to an object under their control. His cold thumb rakes firmly across your lower lip, dragging the flesh in a way that exposes your bottom teeth as you bite down on the gag. The touch is slow, deliberate, and it sends a shiver of dread down your spine. Your breath comes faster around the wet gag, each movement of air accompanied by a moist hiss.

Your chest tightens with each huff and pant, the fear clawing at you from the inside. What are they going to do to them? To you? The questions swirl in your mind, but there are no answers, only the increasing sense of doom that coils around your heart and mind.

"Quite the little snack, aren’t you?" the voice coos.

The words slide out of his mouth, smooth and sensual, a stark contrast to the situation. It’s as if he’s toying with you, savoring the moment, relishing in your fear. You can only whine in response, the gag muffling your voice, reducing your defiance to a pitiful sound. The lilting tone of his voice feels out of place, too intimate, too wrong for what’s happening.

He finally releases your jaw, the sudden absence of pressure almost as jarring as its presence. His fingers tap your cheek lightly, almost playfully, as if sealing some unspoken agreement.

"Yes, you’ll do nicely."

And then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he moves away. The space he occupied feels actually warmer in his absence. Panic wells up inside you, and you try to speak, try to ask the burning question that gnaws at your mind.

"Nicely for what?" you attempt to say, but the gag distorts your words into a garbled mess. "NIthly her mut?!" you repeat.

There’s no answer, no clarification. Instead, a rough hand—much less gentle than the last, which is saying a lot—grabs you by the upper arm. The henchman’s grip is strong, unyielding, as he drags you to your feet. You fight against him, kicking and thrashing with all the strength you can muster, but it’s useless. He doubles down, grabbing you with both hands, and you feel yourself being hauled away. Your screams fill the air, high-pitched and cracking with fear, each screech echoing off the walls as you're pulled into the unknown.

?

Read the full length piece on ao3: In Vein

[lem0nicle]

the riddler brainrot is real

tried experimenting a bit, what do you think??

again sorry for the quality of the pic

also this… (was way funnier in my head)

when batman completes your challenges (that means he cheated):

[starcrosscat]

[soapskies]

could I request hcs for arkham city riddler with a s/o who gets easily flustered by flirting and such?

also I love your writing it brightens my day when I see you post <3

CITY RIDDLER WITH AN EASILY-FLUSTERED S/O

MALE READER. SHORT HCS.

— thank you, anon! as do you.

He doesn’t understand how some people can get so blushy

In fact when others do it around him it’s enough to make him roll his eyes

But you’re not just any person, are you?

When you do it, it feeds into his already enormous ego

Of course he would leave you flustered! Call him the Rizzler fr

He’ll turn up the teasing x10

Mostly the degrading kind but take your wins where you can get them

He’ll memorize every sensitive part of you that makes you blush

He mostly sticks with calling you “dear”, because he finds most other terms of endearment cringe

But if “pet” or “good boy” gets you going, he isn’t opposed to it…

He likes to lift your chin with his cane real smooth like

And watch you grow weak in the knees with a conniving smirk on his face

“My dear, you look so good underneath me.”

[karenramenk-arts]

I'm playing the game over again but like this

[finniestoncrane]

arkham: city concept art

[unrestrained-balderdash-art-blog]

Drew some birdies dressed as Riddlers. Might do some more later, I have a few more ideas

Explanations:

Tim Sale's Riddler is a feral pigeon and a moorhen. I keep drawing him with pigeons, and during drawing the seagull I had the epiphany that his skrunkly vibes are like a moorhen

Frank Gorshin's Riddler is a seagull (herring gull). I guess he just gives the vibes of most likely to steal your chips. And also seagulls make noises I guess. And they're the kings of the seaside like he's the king of the Riddlers

Arkham City Riddler is a mute swan. They're stereotyped as beautiful, elegant creatures. They will also bite you and hiss at you

Arkham Asylum Riddler is a woodpigeon. They're the first birds whose calls I really notice, and before I loved birds I found them kind of annoying but in an affectionate way. This is perfect for this Riddler, as his talking probably annoyed everyone who isn't a big fan of him, but for me it's my favourite part of the Arkham games

Arkham Knight Riddler is an oilbird. Because oil and robots. Also, I found out about them from the Most Fucked Up Bird Election (officialweezerelections) and he's a bit fucked up isn't he? This is my first time ever drawing an oilbird so it isn't the best

BtAS Riddler is a European robin. He's canonically adorable, and I've been seeing a lot of these cute little guys about

Zero Year Riddler is a Canada goose. I was struggling to think of fitting birds, but. HONK.

We also have an emerald starling in spandex, because it's the classic Riddler look with a bird who I think is a classic Riddler bird

[logansbluetie]

I am so glad when they made Arkham city riddler that they kept all elements of this design in the consept art because WTF is this 😭

I understand what they were going for but bro looks like tweedle dumb 💀

[unrestrainedbalderdash]

[Little ramble because I thought about it one night while trying to fall asleep and I'm currently tired]

Riddler in Arkham City puts a contraption on the hostages' heads to force them to keep walking or explode. It's kind of like experiencing OCD in a way - you have to keep walking (the compulsion) in order to not have the bad thing happening (dying - the obsession). Walking might start off easy, but if you keep walking, it gets very tiring, and you're stuck in an endless cycle of doing this to stop the horrible thing from happening, and it gets so frustrating, being trapped forever, held hostage by your brain. Maybe Edward could be crying for help (or maybe it's just me by making this analysis 🙃). He feels like he has to keep facing Batman, no matter how bad it always ends up for him, no matter how much he suffers, he can't stop, he has to win. And when Batman shows up, he rescues these people, but for Edward he has to suffer, because he ultimately can't win, his compulsion to prove his intellect always makes him suffer and makes things worse. This could also link to how in Arkham Knight he reveals he has intrusive thoughts about Batman hurting him - Batman IS the obsession made worse by the compulsions and the cycle.